Of Burns and Bandages
by bookwrm0706
Summary: The Doctor hurts himself tinkering with the TARDIS, and Rose is not impressed by the way he handles it.


Rose was sitting curled up on the jump seat, engrossed in a trashy gossip rag she'd picked up on the last planet they'd visited and marveling at how every species across the universe, no matter how advanced they supposedly were, seemed to share the same obsession with their celebrities' infidelities, pregnancies, and eating disorders. Granted, this particular species had the ability to create a child asexually using excess body mass, so in their case pregnancy and eating disorders could be closely intertwined, but the basics remained pretty much the same.

She was idly contemplating the complexities involved in becoming bulimic for a being with three stomachs when she heard it. She would have had to have been deaf not to. After all, the extremely loud BANG that accompanies an explosion, even a relatively small one (by TARDIS standards, anyway), tends to demand attention.

Startled, she looked up in time to see a veritable fountain of bright gold sparks emerging from the underside of the console, which the Doctor had been tinkering with only moments before. It strongly reminded her of the cheap fireworks she had once seen at a friend's birthday party as a child. If she didn't know any better, she'd think that he'd picked up some pyrotechnics on an alien planet, stuck them under the console for temporary storage, promptly forgotten about them, and subsequently ignited them while attempting repairs with the sonic screwdriver. Who was she kidding? Considering his pack-rat mentality and general lack of concern for basic safety measures, that was probably exactly what had happened.

Although unable to get out from beneath the console, the Doctor had managed to roll to the side and curl into a semi-protective ball. His suit jacket and heavily gelled hair did a fair job of protecting most of his skin from damage, but Rose heard him hiss with pain as a few wayward sparks landed on the exposed skin of his neck.

She was at his side the instant the sparks stopped, gently gripping his arms and helping to haul him out from under the console. "Doctor! You all right?"

Finally free of the confining space, he sat up and looked at her with a pained, soulful, poor-little-me-however-will-I-survive-this-grievous-injury expression in his wide puppy-dog eyes. Rose wasn't fooled for a second.

She allowed her face to fill with completely fake sympathy as he slowly sucked in a deep breath and began to babble, his voice full of a false bravado that was intended to make it seem like he was putting on a brave front in the face of some tremendous pain. Rose made a sympathetic noise as she moved around behind him to examine the back of his neck. Her lips quirked upwards in a small smirk as she inspected the half-dozen pinprick-sized red marks scattered across his pale skin. She doubted that they had hurt at all beyond the first few seconds, but remained silent, only half listening as he continued to prattle on, milking the injury for all it was worth.

"… was once attacked by the venomous Niowska plants on D'woa, they're sentient, you know, made the mistake of asking their queen about their pollination rituals, apparently they're very sensitive about it, considered some sort of taboo to discuss it, nearly lost my leg, that was _much_ worse than this. On Verinda VII, though, during the Age of Moderate Discontent, the Emperor's torturers were quite fond of…"

"What, ticklin' people with feathers?" Rose cut in, unable to keep the amusement out of her voice. "Honestly, Doctor, I don't know why you're makin' such a fuss. I've had paper cuts worse than this."

The Doctor's shoulders slumped slightly on realizing that he'd been rumbled. He was quiet for a few seconds before making a feeble attempt to pump some air back into his deflated ego. "I'm not really surprised. Those buggers hurt worse than a bite from a Quellonian shark fly, and those little beasties have got some teeth on them, let me tell you. They're not named after sharks for nothing, you know."

On hearing the subtly defeated tone in his voice, Rose decided to take pity on him. "Y' know, this one here looks pretty nasty. It might need some treatment." She dropped a quick kiss onto the burn in question, which did not, in fact, appear any more serious than any of the others.

The Doctor gave a small start under her touch, and Rose could have sworn that she saw the back of his neck redden slightly before he twisted around to face her. "What was that for?"

"Kissin' it better. Earth custom. You never heard of it?"

"Well, yes, of course. Kissing it better. Really, Rose, you think I've lived as long as I have and not heard of it? Earth's got so many customs, it's difficult to keep them straight. Just took me a moment to remember, that's all. D' you know that humans are the only species in the galaxy to do that? Well, the Zungians have this habit of licking injuries, but their saliva contains a mild anesthetic, so it makes medical sense. The Jorniks, on the other hand…"

Rose just grinned at him as he blustered his way through his embarrassment. "Tell you what," she said, cutting into his lecture. "You stay here and keep on making a catalogue of the dif'rent ways species across the galaxy tend to their wounds, and I'll stick to the human method and go get you a plaster, yeah? Be right back." She affectionately ruffled his hair as she hopped up and headed off towards the Med Bay, ignoring his weak, slightly whiny protests that he didn't need a nurse, he wasn't a child, thank-you very much, and did she really have to mess up his hair like that?

She quickly grabbed a tube of antiseptic ointment and a cotton swab to apply it with, still smiling to herself over the immaturity of the last great-and-mighty Time Lord, but paused when she opened the drawer where the bandages were kept. Her hand hovered over the wide selection for a few seconds before descending on a box of novelty band-aids that she was sure weren't standard TARDIS issue, her smile gaining a decidedly evil edge at the thought of his reaction when he discovered that he'd been walking around all day with _that_ on the back of his neck. Humming quietly to herself, she headed back out to the console room to see to her juvenile traveling companion.

Late that evening, Rose set about fixing herself a before-bed cup of tea to help her relax from yet another day of accidentally insulting a local deity, being imprisoned, escaping, and overthrowing a corrupt government, all interspersed with lots of running for her life. It was amazing how many days she ended up doing the exact same things, though not necessarily always in the same order (well, the escaping usually came after the imprisonment, but even that was flexible). She was just reaching for the sugar when she heard it. A smile stretched across her face as the petulant voice echoed through the TARDIS corridors.

"Rose! Barbie? Really?"


End file.
